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Lately, when I write reviews, I've been finding myself wondering about the subjectiveness of my reviews, particularly the rating system On the one hand, one might think I'm using this arbitrary system of "Rotting, Shambling Corpses" as an overall ranking system for one to follow, such as those at the internet movie database. Yet often, it's obvious that my ratings vary wildly from the norm. On the other hand, one might easily assume that the ratings reflect my own personal scale of good to bad. Yet again, this is clearly not the case, as there are many reviews wherein I disclaim the number to reflect specific tastes, such as in my review for Cannibal Holocaust. In essence, these numbers seem like little more than random placeholders. After all, more often than not, a bad rating may just indicate an unforgettable filmgoing experience.
Remarkably, this latter point is a fact that can most assuredly be agreed upon universally. IMDB's "Bottom 100" list appears, at first glance to be something of a warning to innocent cineasts, a sort of modern "Here Be Dragons" sign. However, there is a different sort of movie addict. The sort of classification I belong to, where a bottom ranking list is like a treasure map of unaccountable risk. B-movie lovers seem to always be searching for some new depth of cinematic wonder. A large ammount of people pass these habits off as the films being "so bad it's good", taking on the good-natured jibes of "Mystery Science Theater 3000" as a gateway to find something to laugh at, instead of with. While it's true that I do my best to keep my reviews funny, it's not done in bad nature. Sure, I could parrot the Golden Turkeys or the Razzies in what I do, but that would be disingenuous to both myself, and to you the reader. I joke because to take all of this seriously is a path that leads straight to lovecraftian madness.
So what's the appeal of these films? In my opinion, they represent all that remains of true passion in cinema, and have for far too long of a time. Hollywood has always had a small place they reserved for the genre films, sure, but these attempts often resonate as soulless and without the energy or heart of the true independents. To make matters worse is the obvious feeling of Hollywood looking down their noses at the product, only indulging in it because it makes a nice profit. Because of these factors, B-movies have seemed to become the best reason to admire cinema at all. Oh sure, I can hear some of you out there saying "But Choco, what about all the arthouse independent movies that they have festivals for and such high esteem? Those aren't mainstream!" Well I say pshaw. On the one side you get all the surreal and avant garde filmmakers trying to be the next David Lynch (who honestly never really topped himself in that category after Eraserhead anyways), and on the other hand you get films that only pretend to be different from the A's and B's because they get released by companies like Miramax or Fox Searchlight, who are only as independent than the parent companies that own them.
No, if you really want to experience true newness and difference at the movies, you have to seek out the seedy underbelly, and then start digging. For example, I recently took what I view as another step down into the depravity of film seeking, and watched one of the early Guinea Pig films. This "film" is nothing more than a simulated snuff reel, and one that wasn't nearly as convincing as word of mouth would have you believe. About the only thing it had going for it was the camera quality to set the tone of making you wonder "maybe". As you can see, I'm now well past the point of looking for the diamonds in the rough that may pop up at a film festival or in a trade magazine, and I'm now to the point of going waist deep into the pile of filth with the hope of maybe finding a shiny rock.
This search is an obsession of sorts--an addiction, you could say. One that drives its victims to dangerous extremes to get their fix, just like any dangerous habit. In the seventies and eighties, this habit could be sated by a trip to the seedy 42nd street theaters of New York's Times Square, for instance, where you'd brave the dangers (A common warning: "Keep your hands on your wallet, and stay out of the bathroom") just for the thrill gained from what you might see there. Today, in the information age, these rarities are instead found on dangerous websites, where piracy reigns surpreme, and the spectre of criminal charges overshadows every click and keystroke. The dangers associated with simply wanting to watch something else is an idea that Brother Ragnarok wrote about pretty succinctly in his review of the Masters of Horror episode "Cigarette Burns":
Driving back from a trip to Waterloo one day, Fistula and myself were discussing just what it is that drives us to watch gore movies. The real nasty stuff, like Cannibal Holocaust , Make Them Die Slowly , and Last House On the Left. The movies that polite society find morally reprehensible. It’s a morbid desire to find the cinematic bottom of the barrel. By that, I don’t mean Larry Buchanan movies, I mean the foulest, most stomach-churningly gross thing that someone had a sick enough imagination to film with the thought that there were even sicker people out there (i.e. us) who would be entertained by it.
As we see more and more of the red stuff splashed around, it becomes less shocking, and it’s a challenge to find the next movie so grotesque that it still packs that punch for someone who can sit down for a light lunch over Men Behind the Sun. We’re always looking for our Le fin Absolue du Monde. We desire to get that rush of seeing someone’s life slashed away from them for the camera, but still being secure in the knowledge that, convincing as it may have been, that actor stood up after the take, went home, washed off the stage blood, and had dinner with his family. To know that we’re not really sociopaths because we didn’t really put any money in the pocket of a snuff director… did we? Maybe some day one of us will. For us, gore movies are like a drug. The more you take, the more you need to get that fix. As Fistula pointed out, there are only two ways out of a situation like that: you either detox yourself, or you get worse and worse until you go on a gore binge, possibly ending with hurting someone (either directly, or more likely, indirectly), wake up the next morning realizing what you’ve done, and purge your life of the influence. It’s a precarious balance to remain an avid gore addict.
Perhaps some day one of us will be in a movie house of ill-repute, and while looking through the repulsive but ostensibly safe fare out front, the proprietor will invite us in the back for something “really special.” And we’ll know what it is, won’t we? Oh, we’ll try to tell ourselves it’s nothing, just some underground porn from Japan or Thailand, or maybe a lost hardcore reel from an old Joe D‘Amato flick. But we’ll know. And we’ll follow him in the back, and sit there as he starts to thread the film. And will we be able to say no?
Coming back to my more pertinant question: Again, why do I write these reviews? I'm not the great writer I pretend to be, and a quick browsing of even the links page here will turn up many far better reviewers, such as El Santo with his 1,000 Misspent Hours and Counting, or the multi-user sister site to me, The Surfin' Dead. You'll also find great reviewers that stick to free blogs, such as those owned by the likes of Marxo Grouch, or Cliffie the Lemming Girl. Yet here I am, paying good money out of my pocket to maintain a website to poorly write reviews that few people actually bother to read. And I'm hardly the only one out there, for that matter. So why do it? I actually recently polled a large sampling of reviewers, and found a surprisingly narrow band of answers. 1.) Many do it to look cool, and often got their start by reading another site and thinking "I could do that!" 2.) On the off chance that the reader may not have actually even heard of the movie they're highlighting, the review would be educational. Or 3.) Many feel that they improve their writing ability by continually writing, and movie reviews are certainly a good way to maintain the habit.
While I can't vouch for the latter opinion, the first two ring very true to me. The second choice, in fact, is a fairly weighty deciding factor in what films I choose to review. This really tells me that while the ratings system is as arbitrary as it seems, what really matters is the reviews themselves. Take for example, the previously mentioned and sadly mostly now-defunct site Surfin' Dead. They used a large pool of reviewers that never had the time or enthusiasm to make their own sites, but still wanted their reviews seen. So webmaster Deeky Wentworth gave them a home. Due to the disparate gathering of opinions, actual ratings were paractically dismissed entirely, with nothing but a small line of text at the bottom of a review, placed like an afterthought. Yet Surfin' Dead was far higher in popularity than many solo sites I've known. In fact, as I write these lines, I'm wearing a Surfin' Dead T-shirt. What caused this craze for the site? I'll probably never know. If it was a by-product of the gestalt gumbo of reviewers, then so be it. I, myself posted a reviewer there once for a film that was in my opinion, too racy for the level content I prefer to keep this site at, and it too quickly gained fame, far faster than any reviews on my own site. On the other hand, I've nver denied the welcoming mat for guests to review here either. (Incidentally, if you are interested in guest reviewing, feel free to drop me a line at reviewrequests@choconado.com for details)
For me, the reviews almost feel like I'm showing off scars. They sit here on this site as proof that I watched so and so films, like a proverbial flag atop a mountain. As far as them getting read, I seemed to make the biggest impact when I simply maintained my site with regularity. As it appears that I'm back in the saddle for another stretch of keeping TISYUTUS going without long absences, I hope I can get back the readership I once had. I'm not changing a thing about this site. I"m still going to continue handing out Rotting Shambling Corspes as I see fit, and if you get confused by them, well just pretend they aren't there and we'll all be happy. In the meantime, I'm going to go look for more of the wild, wooly, and just plain weird movies out there, and I hope you, the reader will want to come along too.
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